


The Golden Pearl

by seraph7



Series: Tous Pour Un, Un Pour Tous [1]
Category: 17th Century CE RPF, Football RPF, Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, Tennis RPF
Genre: 17th Century France, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Blackmail, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drama & Romance, Duelling, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Historical Inaccuracy, Infidelity, Intrigue, Kidnapping, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents, The Ache in Your Legs Footy Ficathon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3496082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraph7/pseuds/seraph7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivier Giroud is one of Cardinal Richelieu's most efficient and trusted agents. When he returns from a posting in England with the news that George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham is planning to re-enter France once more to meet with Queen Anne, Richelieu decides to make his move to get rid of a man capable of causing political havoc in two countries at once.</p>
<p>He didn't account for his old adversaries the Musketeers, nor a group of young men from Bavaria who are more than capable of putting a spoke in his wheels. Once a young princeling with a mind of his own, a gorgeous agent who is having second thoughts about working for Richelieu, and a nefarious plot to foment war between France and England stir things up, things are about to get interesting for all concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Because I am a sucker for historical AUs, and seem to be stuck in the 17th century at the moment, this has been pretty much begging to be written for months. This was prompted ages ago on 'The Ache in your Legs Footy Ficathon' so I decided to have a bash at it myself. 
> 
> So the concept is footballing stars as spies and courtiers at the courts of Louis XIII and Charles I with cameos from other places as needed. Comments, questions and suggestions are very much welcome.
> 
> I'm going to confess this right now, this is sheer swashbuckling self-indulgent crack, hence the 'Historical Inaccuracy' tag, while I attempt not to make any huge historical and canon mistakes, some events, times and characters may be manipulated for the sake of the story. This is very much AU! so bear with me. For example while the details about young Rupert of the Rhine are broadly true I am out by about three years!
> 
> The title of the series is a rough French Translation of 'One for all, and All for One'
> 
> Once again I have to thank (or blame, I'm not quite sure which!) HGRising for being a bit of an enabler on Tumblr and encouraging me to actually start dabbling in this.

**Paris, 1626**

The man was ushered into the Cardinal's private office immediately as soon as he arrived. His servants have orders that he has priority, as soon as he is available 'Apollonaire' is to be escorted into the cardinal’s presence and trusted with his secrets. His most loyal and trusted servant, willing to carry out any mission given by his master, obey any order at any cost.

"My dear boy," the Cardinal said with undisguised pleasure as soon as he saw him, steepling his fine hands in front of him as he sat enthroned at his deeply polished oak desk, his voice almost warm and welcoming. He turned to the servants, "That will be all. Do not disturb us, unless in the case of a dire emergency. Is that clear?"

The servants knew an order when they heard one."Yes, your Eminence!" they intoned respectfully as they backed away with haste, closing the door behind them.

* * *

The moment that they were alone, Cardinal Richelieu got down to business.

"So what have you to report to me this time, Giroud?" he said as soon as the door was closed and he was sure that the two of them were alone.

Olivier stood to attention and gave his report to the Cardinal. "Laurent and Mathieu tell me that Lord Buckingham still intends to make the trip here to see Queen Anne, despite the displeasure and disapproval of the King and yourself, of course. There is every chance that they will attempt an assignation during this time."

"Ah Koscielny, one of yours, isn’t he? You trust him?" The older man merely inclined his head, but Olivier knew him of old and was not fooled by his mild exterior. Richelieu had a mind like a steel trap, and though he was currently in favour with the venerable churchman, he knew that Richelieu could turn on him in an instant if it suited him.

"Of course, I have no doubt of his skills, your Eminence. he has been trained well. They are both entrenched at the English Court and doing well there." he hastened to assure his master.

"Very well, if you believe we can trust their information. Buckingham would still dare to come here, even after all the trouble he's caused?"

“Buckingham does have a reputation for being, shall we say, a little shameless, if you’ll forgive me speaking so frankly?”

Richelieu nodded him on carelessly, "That preening popinjay has caused enough trouble here as it is." he sniffed, "and he is arrogant enough to believe that he can escape the consequences of his actions. His master is rather too indulgent with him and his family are over-mighty. How that incompetent poltroon had managed to survive several military failures and scandals is beyond me, by all accounts the country at large cannot bear him, and by his greed he has drained the country's treasury into his own pocket."

The two men exchanged a glance that spoke volumes. They both knew exactly how Buckingham was rumoured to have risen to favour; it was the scandalized talk of several courts across Europe, although few would have dared to speak openly about his singular relationship with James Stuart. 

"Even with the younger king?"

Richelieu just looked faintly amused. "Charles is not his father. However, he is inclined to be easily led by a personality stronger than himself. He is dazzled by Buckingham and his glamour, and of course, the Duke uses that to his benefit. I rather pity Queen Henriette- Marie now, having to counteract his influence, it will certainly be a difficult undertaking.”

Knowing what he knew of the Princess turned new Queen of England, Olivier was not entirely sure if he should save his pity for England and the duke. The former princess was known for her strength of will - some may call it plain obstinacy, and despite her small delicate appearance, Henriette-Marie was no walkover. 

"Now let us move closer to home, you read the report from the Hague?"

"Aye, your Eminence, I did."

"Your opinion, Olivier?" the cardinal asked, "You know how I value your judgment on these things."

"The von Wittelsbachs are practically destitute, living off charity of their relatives. Elizabeth of Bohemia has barely enough resources to feed that growing brood of hers and that ridiculous menagerie of animals and suitors she has, let alone start claiming anything, she won't be causing us any problem in the near future."

"But her children very soon might- how old are the eldest boys now?" Richelieu enquired mildly, "I would swear they are near enough to manhood?"

"Fourteen and thirteen, Maurice is very close behind but it's the second one we have to watch."

Richelieu raises his eyebrows, surprised at his opinion, "Really?" There is an interested gleam in his eye at his deputy's news. 

"Carl-Louis is a consummate politician even at his age, he'll play the game well and work not to antagonise anyone, for he can'st not afford it, but Rupert is another matter," Giroud pulled out a rough miniature from his pocket, "This is him, painted not six weeks ago."

Richelieu gazed thoughtfully at the miniature, taking in the features of the young boy depicted. He was young, still with the bloom of childhood lingering in the softness of his face, a dimple in his cheek, but fast approaching manhood. Handsome fine-cut features, that imperious distinct long nose, big dark long-lashed eyes with an intelligent war-like gleam. A boy with a distinct mind of his own, this one.

"He is already training to be a soldier, the scuttlebutt is that he's rather extraordinarily gifted in that department."

"He's a mere boy, not even able to shave yet." Richelieu sneered, "-and yet what's this I hear? They gave him command of his own regiment. Ridiculous!"

"Your Eminence was able to read the report? We have a man in the regiment and it's all true. The lad gives the orders, he trains alongside them. It's quite something to see - the 'little general'! Elizabeth wanted the boy to earn his living as a soldier, and god knows he won’t get any other living otherwise, not with his family fortunes,” Richelieu nodded as he could see the point his deputy was making, "The boy has potential, I believe, your Eminence, for us as well."

"Really?"

"The report made very interesting reading. Carl-Louis may be the heir but let us just say that his personality is ...unfortunate. Bluntly speaking Rupert and many of his other siblings cannot stand him and resent his high-handedness. Rupert has the force of personality already to sway more than one of them."

"Go on." Richelieu was definitely interested now. What a coup that would be! Persuading the young prince into abandoning his Lutheran faith, removing the threat that the princes would demand the return of their Palatine homeland. Well, the Elector and the Holy Roman Emperor would both owe him massive favours if he managed to pull this off, and in his world favours were as good as currency.

"The lad is at a difficult age, Elizabeth doesn't understand him and prefers Carl-Louis. He craves a father figure, a strong influence on his formative years. He needs someone with a sympathetic nature to counteract this. Someone willing and able to gain his trust, be his newest and most dazzling best friends and then slowly, subtly start turning him away to the right cause."

"A task for which our prospective agents are so well suited," Richelieu noted, “From what we’ve found out, the lad is lonely and in need of a figure to look up to. He appears from my reports to be a inquisitive, rebellious one, with an inquiring mind. A boy like that wants to test out his beliefs before he commits to them.”

Olivier listened to his master as he worked through his plan for his benefit. No matter what tidbits of information he and his team managed to dig up for him, Richelieu always managed to twist things to his advantage.

“If we work on him, he’ll fall ripe into our hands, but it needs the right touch. We need to get to him before anyone else gets any ideas. I hear rumours that Elizabeth likes the thought of sending him to London to beg funds from Charles for her, appeal to her brother’s sentiment and he’d be trickier to reach them. We must get an early foothold.”

"Your Eminence has thought of everything."

"If we deal with him, the Elector of Bavaria may well owe us a favour. Monitor the situation until I give further instruction." Richelieu made the decision swiftly.

"You have plans for the lad, your Eminence?"

Richelieu gave Olivier a faintly satisfied smile, "I have a certain young lady and her young brother who I think would be ideally suited to assist us in this endeavour."

"Milady?"

"No, I believe this requires a different touch," Richelieu's smile was a slash in his narrow face, "- as effective as she is, I find that I need a slightly less shall we say... confrontational approach. One does tend to catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, but unfortunately 'tis a lesson the lady Clarice has never learnt. Having a beautiful rival, just as skilled will keep her on her toes. "

Olivier would never understand his master's obsession with pitting their two best female agents against each other. That was the way he ruled them all, divide and conquer. There was a very good reason why he tried to keep Mathieu out of the worst of it.

_I would not have him stained by these sins, for as long as I can._

"I was under the impression that Countess Ana was shall we say... slightly reluctant to work for us again. After her last mission," he suggested, in what had to be an understatement for the years. He still had a nick under his throat from the blade she'd pulled on him the last time he'd tried to cajole her into taking a dangerous case for his master. There was no love lost there at this point, he had no doubt she would have slit his throat as soon as look at him if she suspected her brother was being put in danger.

“Reluctant? Dear me, I was under the impression that you had no problem charming her into doing our will. She is so very good at her job, too.” The cardinal did not sound as if he was about to take ‘no’ for an answer on this subject.

“I think she objected to the terms of her latest assignment.”

Richelieu sipped at his finest claret, brooding on the vexed question. He inclined his capped head, encouraging Olivier to speak.

“She was willing enough to work for us at the beginning, but I think she is starting to have scruples. Once I suggested recruiting her brother Milos as an additional agent, she flat out refused to co-operate. There was a bit of a scene.”

The cardinal’s eyes flicked pointedly to the scar under his chin. It was too much to ask that he would not have noticed it, the man with his canny eyes had probably been informed of the incident as soon as it happened, “I see, perhaps the fair lady needs a bit of a subtle reminder, some leverage to get her to do as we require. Can I leave that with you, or shall I step in?”

“Is he that important, your Eminence?”

Richelieu mused for a moment, stroking his neat facial hair,“We’ve been keeping an eyes on him during his studies. He’s a promising lad, very smart and engaging. I think the two of them, working in tandem for us on special projects would be a master-stroke. Who would be to resist such charming glittering beauties?”

Olivier knew what his master was implying and he hated any hint of failure in his eyes, for it would not remain forgiven. “I will endeavour to bring the lady back to her duties.” he said, with more than a hint of reluctance, “since you desire it, your Eminence.”

"Excellent! I have every confidence that you will be able to persuade her to return to duty, Giroud? And your report?”

Olivier handed it over for closer inspection. He had no doubt that Richelieu would go over it with the finest of tooth-combs, but for now he seemed satisfied enough.

"Quality surveillance, but then I expected no better from you, Giroud. You have never let me down. You certainly do work your boys hard.”

Even when he was lavishing Olivier with praise, he managed by some alchemy to make it sound like a threat.

"Talking of Bavaria, I don't think our 'friends' from there have left us yet. I don't like it one bit. They ought to have left weeks ago, but somehow they have managed to get themselves attached to the court and in favour with the king and queen." Richelieu grumbled, eager to grind axes about a matter that had been vexing him for some weeks. No matter how many subtle hints he laid before Louis, he would not hear of them leaving him. He seemed positively attached to their leader for some reason that bothered the cardinal immensely.

"I hear they have done some service for the king."

They were a wild card that Richelieu had not quite taken into account and it unnerved him, as far as Olivier could see. His master did not like uncertainties and this group with their unclear allegiances as yet were troublesome.

_I have no doubt that I will be called on to deal with this, sooner or later._

"I don't like it! That Lahm sees too much; he's too damned clever, sticks his nose in where it isn't wanted. A man like that is nothing but trouble, and his comrades are no better. None of them can be trusted. I trust I can leave that to you, Hugo and Karim?"

He knew an order when he heard one, "Aye, Your Eminence."

Richelieu sighed, "It is a great comfort to me to know that everything is being taken care of."


	2. Navigating Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we are introduced to some familiar friends...

The gardens of the Louvre, Paris

 

Two men walked tranquilly in the royal gardens that fine morning. They were deep in animated conversation, ignoring the anxious clutch of courtiers hovering at a discreet distance from the pair. By the deference paid to the elder of the pair and the rich finery of his clothing, an observer could quite correctly guess that he was Louis XIII of France.

He was accompanied by a slight young man with dark blond hair falling over the lace trimmed collar of his soberly coloured and cut suit, none of the extravagances of current court fashion marring the elegant line. From a distance it would be so easy to mistake him for nothing more than a youth, but once you looked past the deceptively boyish face and into the shrewd deep blue eyes, it would be clear that you had fallen into the trap of badly underestimating him. Many had and had come to regret it.

"It is a radical solution, I grant you, Sire, however-" he was saying to the king earnestly, using his hands to illustrate his point.

"I know you are right, but I cannot but shrink a little at what you suggest as a solution. To abandon our position to the Lutherans without trying for concessions, to yield the victory to the heretics-"

The king did not notice the imperceptible wince of his companion at the loaded word ‘heretic’, "Peace is surely the ideal solution. Any more conflict could be disastrous. There are whole swathes of my country which have been utterly devastated by war. Villages and towns put to the sword, fields set on fire and sown with ashes and salt. 'Tis a thing I truly hope you never have to witness." Philipp pressed his point, ardently, keen to make the king see the cruelty and senseless waste of the conflict, "You'll forgive me for being frank, but it is a terrible waste of human potential. A tragedy, no less."

The king sighed, considering his companion's heartfelt words, won over by his sincerity and eloquence, “Please do not think that I do not understand your concerns, Herr Lahm. This all touches you and your group most personally, and I assure you that I have much sympathy for your exile from your homeland, but I cannot allow the advance of the Protestants. I already struggle with the Huguenots in my own land.”

He must have seen the disappointment on Philipp’s face, the slightest slump of his shoulders for he hastened to explain and justify himself hurriedly. 

"Any attempts to aid Huguenots, even in a foreign land, no matter how even-handed my intentions, would be taken negatively. The church is most powerful here."

“I understand your position, Sire.”

"The last time the Crown tried to intervene on behalf of the Huguenots in the face of overwhelming public opinion, it did not end well, Philipp."

Philipp took the king's point, however reluctantly. Though it was near enough fifty years since the Saint Bartholomew's massacre that atrocity had never been forgotten by anyone. Sometimes he wondered whether the wounds incurred would ever heal, or were the streets of Paris still steeped in blood from that terrible night? Wounds upon the soul like that rarely healed, let alone cleanly.

"Philipp, you argue so eloquently that it is a true shame to disappoint you. I hope one day that I can aid you as you desire. For the nonce will not your brave companions and yourself stay at my court and do me service? I would heartily welcome your sharp mind, and I know Monsieur de Treville thinks very highly of Bastien and Manuel. He sings their praises weekly."

Louis laid a comforting hand on Philipp's shoulder, eager to still show him favour even if he was unable to grant his friend’s request. "My friend, do not be disheartened. You did the right thing coming to me with your concerns, and I promise that I will at least broach the subject with the cardinal. I warn you that he is unlikely to receive it positively, but-"

“At least we both will have have tried, Sire. I thank you for listening to me.” Philipp was courteous to the last, despite his disappointment at the outcome of the discussion.

 

* * *

The king and Philipp entered the courtyard to find three men in close physical combat. There was a small court of courtiers and ladies in waiting congregated, watching the men as they battled, chattering and laying discreet bets on the outcome.

The Queen herself was there, surrounded by her ladies, fanning herself languidly in the spring sunshine, a broad befeathered hat protecting her fine pale complexion that she was so proud of. The royal couple coolly acknowledged each other as if they were nothing more than polite strangers at this most formal and elegant of courts. Her ladies in waiting dipped and swayed under his attention in their fine silk satin and velvet gowns, all eager to show deference to the king.

Murmurs of: "Your Grace" rose from the gathered throng, but he had only eyes for one man, the fighter who was combating two of his best guardsmen in impressive fashion.

"Ah, here is the man himself," observed the king in undisguised admiration, “-like a warrior of old. I swear he should be in armour and born with a broadsword in his hand.”

Bastian was crouched low, ready to spring, watching his opponents with keen and eager eyes. His chin went slightly up in a defiant line, and he beckoned for his opponent to come closer, a confident gleam in his eye. He laughed, loud and joyous, as if he was positively enjoying himself as he was fighting.

Avoiding the wild swipes of his opponent, which were made with more frustration than skill, it was clear to see who had the upper hand. Even though he was outnumbered, Bastian was by no means at a disadvantage.

He sprung at the first assailant, knocking him flat on his back and thoroughly winding him and then waited until the other man had fully committed himself before taking a swipe at his knees and upending him neatly. He swiftly snatched his sword and pointed it at his opponent’s throat, ignoring the gasps and applause from the watching courtiers.

“C’est magnifique! Il est dangereuse!” sighed the audience, charmed by his display of skill.

“Do you yield?” though he sounded outwardly polite, there was a certain ingrained haughtiness in Bastian’s voice and stance, an arrogance calculated to needle a proud adversary.

His opponent ground his teeth in annoyance, vexed that the foreigner had bested him in his own court in front of most of the great and the good.

"Damn you, you foreign bastard!” he gritted out from between his teeth, lips curled up in a snarl, infuriated by his lack of ability to land a hit on Bastian, despite his best efforts.

Bastian’s eyes narrowed, unbothered by his opponent’s hostility, “Really, ‘tis most uncouth of you to drag this out and keep the ladies waiting in this spring heat. You are beaten, Sir. Do you yield?” The blade pressed against his neck a little more insistently. From the glint in his eyes, it was clear that he was not about to spare his opponent publicly.

“Very well, for now , I yield!” he at last said begrudgingly.

Bastian helped him up, clapping him heartily on the back and praising his opponent generously with such charm and sincerity that it was hard to hold a grudge for too long against him. Though the second opponent seethed, there was nothing to do but accept Bastian’s praise, so unstintingly given.

"Most impressive, Herr Schweinsteiger." Louis said graciously, allowing him to rise, “-really your talents with a blade impress me more and more by the day. No wonder de Tréville sings your praises constantly. You will show me that trick with your footwork and the blade, won’t you?”

“Maybe another time, Sire?” Bastian suggested,"As always, I live to please your Grace."

"Was it not well-fought, my lady?” Louis asked his queen idly, “Bastian is quite the warrior, isn’t he, my sweet?”

The queen turned cold eyes on him, her gaze raking him up and down. It was a glance to make most men shrink into their boots and turn tail, but Bastian was not easily cowed and returned her stare, as direct and challenging as an epee thrust.

The air fairly crackled around them, tense and prickly as an impending thunderstorm.

“Indeed, my lord,” her smile failed to reach her eyes.

Bastian noticed her attitude towards him, and his boyish confident smile faded, making his features look almost stern and unyielding, “I am truly sorry that my exploits fail to please you, your Grace,” Though his words were impeccably polite, the tone of his voice was anything but.

She sniffed, having nothing to retort to that, the colour rising in her cheeks, “Come ladies, we have dallied too long outside.” she called, gathering her ladies around her.

The girls all trooped after her in a dutiful line, following their mistress and breaking up the impromptu gathering. One fair blonde attempted to gain his attention with a press of his hand and a sweet slightly hesitant smile, keen to smooth over any ill-feeling, but he brushed her off for her pains.

* * *

That evening

"Assemble the group, we're having a meeting. I have been conversing with the king this morning.” Philipp brought the group to order as they needed to discuss his conversation with the King and come up with a decent strategy to prosper in this court.

"What did he have to say?" A tall, handsome youth with a striking jawline and floppy blond hair asked as he lounged by the fire, reading a letter that had been passed to him by Philipp.

"More of the same, Holger, but at least he was inclined to hear me out until the end, which was more than I expected, in all honesty," Philipp told them, "At least he listened. In that respect it was not a complete loss, I suppose?"

Christoph was young enough to be unable to hide his disappointment, his face fell as he asked his leader, “So no chance of going home any time soon?”

Philipp sighed, making him seem a great deal older. The weight of the world seemed to settle fully on his slight shoulders, a weight of responsibility for this ramshackle group of exiles, far from home and living on their wits that he seemed far too young to carry, “I’m afraid for the moment, the answer is ‘No’, but he still has use for our services at this court, Chris. All we can do is establish ourselves and hope for the tide to turn in our favour.”

“I know! It’s just-” the young man’s man’s voice trailed off in abashment.

"Christoph?"

At first the young man hesitated to speak his mind, but reassured by the casual arm of his friend around his shoulders he gained the courage to speak out, “It’s hard to be positive about our fate, when we have no prospect of return. We have to ask the question, how long will our exile last, and how shall we live here? How long can we depend on the good favour of the King and Monsieur de Treville?”

Much as he did not like to think about the uncertainty of their lives right now at the French court, Chris had a point. He deserved a candid answer to his question when it affected them all, “I wish I had I had an easy answer for you, Chris , but at the moment, I am afraid that I do not. All King Louis said is that he would introduce me to people who could help, but that he cannot intervene himself.”

"You must admit he has a point." his friend said with a glance at the young man, full of concern and affection, "We have been here longer than expected, with much uncertainty about many things."

“I own that none of this is ideal, Manuel, We make ourselves useful, and await our opportunity, that is all we can do. Our time will come.” Bastian said firmly, looking round at the group with a determined set to his face, “I have no doubt of that.”

Philipp gave his deputy a grateful flash of a smile. No matter tough things got at court while the group were in exile, Bastian was always at his side, right behind him when he needed him. However different they were in personality, they managed to complement and support each other. The burden of exile was not nearly as heavy with him at his side.

“Monsieur de Tréville asked to see Holger, Manuel and myself on some matter, we may make our way into town soon to see what he requires.”

“A mission? That would not be so bad?” The group seemed to visibly perk up at the prospect of employment and utilising their skills. The enforced idleness at court, enmeshed in the petty tangles of court intrigue, and hidden factions lurking in the shadows of this gilded world no doubt did not sit well with them.

“The Queen seemed not to hold you in favour.” Philipp noted to Bastian, “I have to say she was quite open about it, today. Rather more than usual, I would say?”

Bastian’s lips pressed into a thin line of irritation in response to his observation, “With respect, the Queen listens to gossip, and far too much of it. She has already made up her mind about me.” He made no secret of that fact that the feeling was mutual, and he had little patience for the woman at the best of times.

“You think that Sarah would have turned her against you?” Philipp frowned, knowing that Bastian’s pride would make him resent Anne’s interference, however well-meant.

“Not on purpose, I grant you, but they are undeniably close and she is bound to have mentioned it at some point. Queen Anne evidently made up her own mind from that.”

"Just don't-"

"Don't what?" Bastian looked highly unimpressed by the entire subject, "-she started this, not me. Why is it anything to do with her anyway?"

"I say not that it is your fault, just try not to antagonise her, if you can." Philipp attempted to soothe his friend's prickly pride, knowing that the situation needed a delicately diplomatic touch. The two of them would probably never get on, Queen Anne and Bastian, but it was in all their interests that the group retained the good-will of the royal family, while they had to reside here.

Bastian's lips pressed into a thin tight line, "I don't intend to, Philipp, believe me."


	3. Contacts and Commissions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philipp makes a useful new contact, as the group's fortunes improve for the better, and the mysterious Countess Ana makes her mark at court.
> 
> Meanwhile Cardinal Richelieu sets an unlikely tail on his best asset.

Louis was as good as his word. Within the next couple of days he had arranged a meeting for Philipp with one of the more moderate and forward-thinking of cardinals at his court, a Cardinal Josep Guardiola.

“He has some very interesting ideas, I thought that you would enjoy an exchange of ideas with him.” the king suggested in his recommendations with a warm smile.

Philipp was surprised that the king had exerted himself to help him, despite their disagreement on the subject. Perhaps the group's fortunes were improving, despite his earlier pessimism. He and the group could be of some use here, earn their fortune, perhaps if fortune favoured them, they might finally be able to return home at last, exiles and soldiers of fortune no more.

* * *

Cardinal Guardiola was a sleek well dressed man with immaculate robes, greeting him with a welcome on his insctruable dark eyes, “Herr Lahm, what a pleasure to finally meet with you.” he said smoothly as he ushered Philipp into his chamber, “Please feel to avail yourself of my hospitality. I have heard great things about you and your group from Monsieur de Treville.”

The well-trained servants set the table for two and then melted away unobtrusively, leaving the two men alone to discuss their business in private. Philipp had to silently admire their slick professional service. 

Philipp found himself enjoying the man’s erudite and learned company but wondered how he was meant to help them. He knew the importance of making connections, but their situation was becoming ever more acute. If something did not come through soon for the group, he might be forced to look further field for somewhere for them to earn a living. 

“Of course you know all about the Duke of Buckingham and his unfortunate dalliance with the Queen. As much as we have attempted to discourage him from pressing his attentions he still persists. People are starting to talk..." his voice trailed away with some delicacy. 

Philipp gave him a sympathetic nod, drawing him out.

“The trouble is that we simply cannot bar him from the country without causing an international incident. We must keep a discreet eye on him while he is here, and hope he has enough sense to stay away from the Queen and not cause a scandal, for her sake.”

"You think we can help with Buckingham and his plots?"

Guardiola smiled, pleased that Philipp was able to pick up the gist of his scheme swiftly, "I certainly do! After all you and your team are foreigners. You are not involved in the way a purely French team would be. So you see, there is something that you and your men are ideally suited to do here, head to La Rochelle and spike his guns before he cuses any more havoc.” he took off his silken skull-cap and rubbed at his close cropped hair in exasperation. " I don't mind admitting that I fervently wish Charles would simply recall him home!"

Philipp was not entirely sure he liked the sound of this, but a job was a job. Perhaps he and the team could not afford to be picky, even if it promised to be a political minefield.

Guardiola paused as if he were considering what to say. He urged Philipp to partake of his hospitality, eager to get him on side. "Please help yourself to some of the Burgundy. " I just... well, to be frank I have some questions...not about you, Herr Lahm but a member of your team. ?"

 _A member of my team?_ For a moment Philipp did not quite know where the cardinal was going with this. _What would he have against a member of my team?_

Guardiola paused as if he were considering what to say. "Your companion...Herr Schweinsteiger... " His voice trailed away delicately.

As soon as he delicately attempted to broach the subject, Philipp knew what the issue seemed to be."I have known Bastian since we were lads, he is as a brother to me. I would trust him with my life. He is a decent man and a superlative fighter." He assured Cardinal Guardiola.

"I don't doubt his skills, but is he capable of operating in this political milieu?" The churchman demurred. "I mean not to be offensive, but he seems-- a little rough-hewn?"

People had been underestimating his friend since they were lads sneering at him subtly for his lack of extensive holdings and humble rural background deep in the Bavarian Alps. Sometimes it made his heart ache at the sheer injustice of it, but Basti would grit his jaw and let the scorn of others drive him to excel.

“Basti is utterly reliable. I couldn't ask for a better second in command." Philipp insisted.

"Well, if you insist, Herr Lahm, I suppose I must defer to your judgement." He demurred, though he did not seem convinced.

"I would trust him with my life, no question.” he asserted.

Guardiola did not answer, but just looked at him with dark thoughtful gaze. He couldn't help but wonder what exactly Guardiola had against his friend.

* * *

Cardinal Richelieu's office

Kitty was in awe as she was ushered into the cardinal’s office that afternoon. She had never seen the great man that her mistress worked for, and she wondered with no little trepidation what he could possibly want with such a humble maid as her. It was surely not a good thing to attract the scrutiny of the great and good, but she could hardly refuse to obey his summons, not in her position.

_I am utterly beneath his notice, how does he even know that I exist?_

Privately, she wasn’t quite sure deep down if she wanted to come to the attention of such a powerful man, believing fervently that there would be nothing but trouble from it, but there was nothing she could do, as she could hardly refuse to obey a summons from the Cardinal. _Even Milady does not hesitate to attend him promptly, how much more I?_

“Milord?” she stammered, dropping into an awkward curtsey, and hoping against hope that she would not trip over her feet”-you sent word that you wanted to see me?”

He was not as she had expected at all. Sleek, well-bred looks, sharp eyes that missed nothing, elegant red satin robes and the air of immense power carefully sheathed.

“Your Eminence,” he gently corrected with the faintest amused curve of his mouth, “enter, child.”

She took a tremulous step inside the office and stopped, unsure of how to act in front of such an intimidating and powerful man. 

He inclined his head, acknowledging her fear and accepting it as tribute, “Please, my dear girl - Kitty, is it not? Feel free to sit in my presence.”

She sank gracelessly into the chair opposite, completely overawed by his aura. She did not even dare to raise her eyes to look him full in the face.

“Look at me.”

She gazed up at him timidly at last, impelled by the command in his voice, one that was clearly accustomed to instant obedience.

“My dear girl, there is no need to tremble. I am not quite in the habit of devouring maidens just yet.”

She was surprised how silkily comforting his voice could be, a slight smile on those sleek urbane features.

“Please make yourself at ease, Kitty. There is no need to be afraid. Some wine?” he indicated a goblet and a jug on the table with one elegant hand. 

From sheer servile instinct she moved to serve him, pouring out a generous glass and placing it neatly in front of him, seeing to his comfort before her own, as a good servant should. He gave a little nod of approval, one dark brow rising, “-none for yourself?”

She shook her head, “No, your Eminence, I had better not.”

As his smile deepened with approval, Kitty felt she had managed to do the right thing, even if it was by sheer dumb luck, a step in the far too complex game that she had finally managed to pull off and not tread clumsily on her own toes.

"Begging your pardon, your Eminence, but I don't rightly know what you could want from me?"

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fine elegant hands in front of him, a shrewd look in his eyes.

She felt as if he was testing her, toying with like a kitten with a mouse.

"I have a task for which I believe you could be very well suited, Kitty. You would be adequately compensated for your efforts, of course."

_A task? This did not sound good in the slightest._

"I know not if I speak out of turn, my lord, but why me?" she couldn't help asking.

He mused upon her question for a moment, "I don't believe your mistress, as skilled and effective as she is, would be quite suitable for what I require." His smile deepened, "-but you on the other hand...someone unobtrusive and discreet who can find out and report back to me. You might do very well.”

This sounded ominous, but Kitty did not dare protest.

"You have seen the Countess Ivanovic, have you not?" he prompted.

"Oui, My lord, but my mistress cannot stand her!" Kitty burst out unguardedly," begging pardon sir, I didn't mean to speak out of turn."

One brow rose in interest, “Pray do tell? Your mistress cannot abide her?”

Kitty sensed that she had already made a blunder and chided herself inwardly at her careless tongue. _When would she ever learn to hold her tongue like a sensible maid?_

“I have heard her say it many a time.” Kitty admitted, highly reluctant to admit it.

He was not about to let her get away with a statement like that without delving further, “Oh? And what exactly does she have to say about the Countess Ivanovic?” His eyes bored into her, demanding an answer. 

Kitty regretted her indiscreet mouth dropping her right in it. “She says the lady has not earned your favour, that you favour her unfairly.”

“So she is eaten up with envy?” He did not seem surprised at all. The Cardinal nodded, as if he’d just had something confirmed, “Exactly,” he said with crisp efficiency, “-now do you see why your mistress would be wholly unsuitable for the task?”

“Aye, sir-”

“She is incapable of being impartial in this matter.”

Kitty really did not know what to say to that, so she held her tongue and fixed her attention on a knot in the highly polished table in front of her.

“I want you to watch Lady Ana - who she sees, who she speaks to, where she goes. Whatever you can find, however small and report regularly back to me.” he ordered. “I need not stress that you must be discreet. I do not wish for either Countess Ivanovic or your mistress to know that I am putting her under surveillance.” His eyes narrowed, ruthless and cold, “It would not suit my plans-”

Kitty wondered what the lady had done for him to want her followed.

“I shall send instructions and I will clear things with your mistress. She will not interfere with my plans.”

She heard the distinct threat in his voice. _This is not a man I would ever like to cross._

“Aye Sir!”

“I look forward to your first report, Kitty,” he concluded with the cool air of dismissal returning to his voice.

Kitty bobbed into a curtsey and backed away.

 

* * *

Now that she was an agent of Richelieu's, however humble or unwittingly, she had to find a solution to the problem that he had set her and report to her new master as soon as possible, but trying to hide her new assignment from her mistress was a task in itself.

_Caught betwixt the pair of them, and I know not where I should turn!_

“So what exactly does he want you for? ‘Tis a most tedious inconvenience to have you sloping away when you should be serving me!” There was more than a hint of petulance in her voice as Kitty attended to her mistress’s toilette.

Frankly Kitty could not help feeling her mission from serving Milady was a reprieve from her usual routine. Milady was not the most comfortable of mistresses, hard to please and demanding at the best of times.

“Excusing me, Madame, but I am not at liberty to say more, begging your pardon.” She shrank away as if afraid Milady was going to lash out, and with her temper it was a distinct possibility.

Milady’s eyes narrowed with displeasure, not liking the sound of her maid’s answer, not her will being thwarted by a more powerful being. As far as she was concerned, Kitty existed to serve her? For her master to commandeer her maid and for both to refuse to divulge exactly what he required of her was quite unconscionable!

"Begging your pardon, Milady, but it seemed wise not to displease him."

"What if I decide not to release you?" Even as she spoke, Kitty knew that Milady was bluffing, playing with her like a spoilt kitten toying with her food, flexing her claws to show her power. Even she knew the power of Richelieu and how hard it would be to deny him. A man like was not easily crossed.

"Forgive me, Ma'am, I-"

"Well, I have to say I find it most irregular." Milady grumbled, exquisite face twisted with pique, giving the hapless maid a most vicious look as she met her eyes in the silvered mirror. 

Despite her Mistress’s bluster, Kitty knew that the cardinal’s will would prevail.

* * *

There was one benefit in being in the shadows on the periphery of court. No one noticed her, as a servant she was mere background. The gaze of the courtiers often slid right over her, so she was able to observe the object of Richelieu’s scrutiny.

The lady in question was an eye catching beauty, tall as a man and willowy with golden skin she scarcely bothered to sully with paint, just a slick of kohl around feline green eyes and a hint of rouge on her mouth.

She walked through them with glorious unconcern, as if other’s opinion were of little concern to her. She made little attempt to befriend the ladies of the court, preferring to spend her among the racier bluestocking set in Paris, the salons of Mademoiselle de Scudery, Madame de Chevreuse and Mademoiselle Petkovic, hotbeds of learned elegant conversations,frivolity and fashion, hedonism, and some whispered, rampant political radicalism.

 

The ladies settled in the glade, dismounting from their steeds. the ladies-in-waiting bustled around, making everything ready and comfortable for their mistress, the Queen.

“Come, sit-” Anne commanded, “here is as fair a spot as any.”

“Does anyone know anything about her?” asked one maid with she obviously thought was a discreet glance towards her. It was not nearly as clandestine as the lady- in- waiting obviously thought.

“I would not trouble my head about her, she doesn’t much frequent court.” her companion said rather dismissive and glibly.

Ana heard the unspoken reproof as if it had been vocalised out loud. **She is not one of us.**

Ana and Andrea sat on the edge of the group. She was wondering what the hell she was doing here.

Richelieu had been adamant that she accepted the invitation, much against her inclination, but she knew from experience that once he got a bee in his bonnet, it did not do to gainsay him. It was not worth the trouble.

Now surrounded by the ladies of the court and faced with dismissive and faintly hostile stares, Ana feared she had made an error of judgement.

Anne must know of her connection to Richelieu, it was hardly a secret, judging by the looks she was shooting her from behind her fan, the rustle of whispers from the ladies-in-waiting. It was safe to say that she was not about to be graced with the royal favour any time soon. For some reason Anne had seemed to have taken against her almost right away, though they had barely interacted with one another, following the lead of their mistress, the reception from her maids of honour was equally frosty. Ana wondered if she knew or suspected her connection with the Cardinal.

“I can’t believe you got me into this!” she nudged Andrea.“This is the last time I listen to you.”

She adjusted the brim of her wide brimmed hat, fussing with the plume to hang more becomingly.

Her friend was completely unfazed by her accusation, she kicked her satin shoes off and wiggled her toes, enjoying the fine day and the sunshine. “It would have looked suspicious if you hadn't attended.”

"They're suspicious of me anyway."

Her friend nudged her, "Stop fussing!"

“Andrea, they’re all staring at me like I have a third eye!”

Andrea did not seem to be as troubled by their hostile reception.“Keep quiet and listen.” Their tongues loosened by the flagons of wine from the picnic baskets, they were hardly holding back.

Andrea pointed out Sarah, who sat at the Queen's feet, attending her with the rest of the ladies.

“That’s the one,” she said with an indiscreet nudge to her friend.

“Who?”

“The fair maiden who was with your Bavarian. They were betrothed, they say, since their youth. I hear that he left her-” she let her voice trail away meaningfully.

Ana felt the blush steal onto her cheeks, surely she was not being that obvious? “He’s not my Bavarian.”

Andrea’s eyes sparkled with mischief, not fooled in the slightest by her denial, “Not yet!” her mouth turned up at the corner.

“You’re meddling again,” she warned her friend.

"I prefer to call it, looking out for you, dear."

Ana took a good look to the other girl, now that she knew she was a rival, taking in her light blonde hair crowned with apple blossom, elegant pink silk gown and sweet angelic face.The girlish crystalline beauty and fashion plate clothes as befitted a favourite of the Queen.

_She is about as different from me as day is from night._

Despite her protest she couldn't deny that she did like him and she wanted to know more about him. He intrigued her.

The strong carved features of his face that shouldn’t have strictly have worked together, but strangely they did. The sharp lines of his jawline and cheekbones intrigued her, she even liked his big prominent chin, it gave his face character. The way he carried himself was rather attractive, the sunny self-confidence of his smile, that aura of charisma he had like a warrior of old or a prince. It transformed his face from sternness to almost boyish.

If she had to admit it to herself she was not surprised that she mentioned him more than was strictly proper, and of course her friend would have noticed it.

Despite herself, she wanted to see him again. She needed to see him again, and when was the last time she had felt like that?

“You haven’t stopped talking about him since you met him.”

Ana could hardly deny it.

Andrea tilted her head to the side, regarding her friend in a new light, amused by Ana’s reaction to the man.

“So do you like him? I did wonder, and so did Madame de Chevreuse and Mademoiselle de Lenclos?”

Ana could not help but protest at that, really Andrea and her coterie of bluestockings were incorrigible! She loved them dearly, all of them, but this was too much! “You’re talking and speculating about me when I’m not there?”

Andrea gave her a look half knowing and half pitying,“We’re your friends, Ana , we’re not blind!”


End file.
